


A Rusted Shield on a Crooked Cracked Crown

by JazzRaft



Series: Old Gods & Older Fools [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 03:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14071809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/pseuds/JazzRaft
Summary: A false king visits a falser friend at the last sunset.





	A Rusted Shield on a Crooked Cracked Crown

“Not you again…”

“Me again.”

He talked as if he’d never expected to see him again. As if he hadn’t been watching his every step through his whispers, forgotten to the Crag and leaching through the earth to tickle at the heels of his shadows. Gilgamesh had never been able to leave him alone. Not even in death, if one could even call what they were that. It certainly wasn’t life.

The Blademaster and the Accursed. It had been millennia since either of them were worthy of having a name. Names were for the living. They were expected to have left theirs with their headstones.

Now, the world was dying. Soon, all of it would be a tomb.

“You should really sweep this drafty old hole out a little,” Ardyn suggested, trailing a finger along the earthen walls. “I expect you may have a great deal of new guests soon. Wouldn’t want to seem inhospitable now, would you?”

The Crag was a complex prison, cradling the souls of all those deemed unworthy by the Blademaster to serve the Lucian kings as Shield. As if he had any right to pass judgment on those meant to inherit a position Gilgamesh had never rightly deserved in the first place.

It could have been his. It could have been both of theirs. If only he’d stood with him. If only he’d spoken for him when all he was promised was ripped from his grasp. He would have made him Shield and more by every right if he hadn’t turned his back on him to be blinded by his false light.

Ardyn wasn’t certain what would become of the Tempering Grounds once the darkness finished devouring the days. Rare were the times that he was permitted entry, and never long enough to study the ancient chasm or listen to the collection of spiteful souls within. If Gilgamesh was feeling generous – nostalgic, even, though neither of them felt any particular inclination to reminiscence – he would let Ardyn come all the way to the toes of his dusty seat before he drew his blade against him.

It was a great source of entertainment. A wonderful comedy of enacting vengeance, pretending like he was the one entitled to it. The act got more elaborate every time, adding new layers of depth to the character Gilgamesh liked to play. The devoted Shield, the first of his role, pledged to the Founder King, the First King, the One King, beloved by the gods and chosen for his seat by divine providence, entitled by blood and succession, pretending like Ardyn had never existed to claim that birthright himself.

Quite the comedy.

Today’s act was a tragedy. It was comprised of a great deal of silence, grieving for the final rays of daylight sinking down the throat of the Crag.

Quite a boring show.

“I’m surprised at you, old friend,” Ardyn mused, pacing the bridge of swords. “No vows of undying retribution? No promises of eternal damnation? Come now, is the great and feared Blademaster really going out with such a pitiful whimper?”

Ardyn absolutely abhorred silence. Always had. He remembered shouting just to hear the echoes in the towering chambers of the old palace to pretend like there were a thousand people between the walls. He remembered a boy – used to be a brother to someone – that always complained of the noise. Always demanded “inside voices, please,” in words that were so polite that they were just downright painful to listen to.

Traveling the kingdom had been a relief because he was outside. No need for “inside voices” out in a world without walls to echo back against. Traveling and whistling and chattering on chocobo-back had been a smug delight, especially since he was allowed to steal the spoiled brat’s favorite sword-at-arms to corrupt from his quietude as they went.

All that hard work, gone to naught now.

Gilgamesh had always been stubborn. Getting him to break his stoic reserve had taken every trick and jape and far-fetched tale he’d ever picked up from the theaters and the circuses and the stages he’d snuck off to in his youth. He’d considered it a tremendous accomplishment after the first month on the road had rewarded him with an undignified snort of ale up the great Blademaster’s nose.

That was long before he’d ever been written into that myth though.

“Have you come to laud your victory?”

Ah! A script, at last! Finally, thrown a line.

“I’d hardly call this a victory so much as an inevitability. This world was always destined to darkness.”

“You truly believe that…”

Now he did. Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, a foolish young man used to think otherwise. He felt so sure that the kingdom deserved light and it was his honor to preserve it. He would sacrifice anything for it. That was what a true king did for his kingdom. He put the safety of his people before himself, and in accomplishing that, attained true respect from both his subjects and himself. A foolish young man believed that harmony was achievable. That he would be humbled if it was awarded to him.

Nothing could turn a king into a fool quite like a fire-breathing dragon.

“It’s been a long time coming,” Ardyn stated, coming to stand at the edge of the bridge to watch what the Astrals had wrought on their beloved world.

Gilgamesh sat perched at his feet, arm on his knee, one foot weighing perilously over the abyss. Ardyn briefly considered kicking him off the edge. Just to see what would happen. Could be funny. Maybe it’d even get a laugh out of the old relic if he was lucky. It would certainly make the last sunset on Eos more eventful.

It was but a means to an end. He wasn’t particularly excited for the event, but after all this time, he felt an odd sort of obligation to observe the last day. It was something to do, anyway. He had a great deal of waiting ahead of him. Might as well at least _try_ to entertain himself. But Gilgamesh wasn’t being much fun in that regard.

“This must be quite a momentous occasion for you,” Ardyn taunted to fill the silence. “It’s not every millennia that you get to stick around for the end of the world. Did you honestly think that king of yours had any idea what he was up against?”

He couldn’t even rile him to anger, it would seem. He was used to that as well, but the Blademaster was known for having quite a temper since he’d been condemned to immortality. There were only so many imbeciles pretending at honor that a person could take before men grew too insufferable to stand, he supposed. He’d been on the brunt end of that ire on many of his visits. He was rather hoping for an epic tantrum on this most auspicious of occasions.

The Crag slowly started to darken, the sun a mere bead in the distance, squashed between two walls of stone, hooked beneath the arches that closed like fingers down the length of the chasm. Gone would be the glittering reflection of sunlight on slicked stone, crystalline in the dawn. Quiet would be the voices of a hundred undead souls as the light they reached for was snuffed out before their eternal deliverance. Resigned was the Blademaster to the rising shadow racing through his prison.

“It would seem you were right,” Gilgamesh said with the last beam of sunlight. “This world could not escape its destiny. But neither can you, Accursed. The Chosen King will return with Shield in hand as destiny has demanded of him.”

“Oh, rest assured. I’m counting on that particular prophecy.”

The Blademaster said no more, caught in the quandary of committing to the prophecy and thereby permitting Ardyn his vengeance. There would be no victory for the heroes. No honor for the Shields.

Ardyn’s victory wouldn’t come for another ten years. But for now, in the old darkness that he could at last share with the world that had forgotten him, he felt a little vindicated with the futility of a false Shield. And it was nice to appreciate the end of days with the last immortal that deserved to suffer it. Quite a spectacular curtain call.


End file.
